


Worship

by theLiterator, Traxits, vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Exhibitionism, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-26
Updated: 2010-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traxits/pseuds/Traxits, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran and Alistair attend a ball together, where the drink flows and some unexpected situations arise...  Purely PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a rewrite of an RP transcript between vehlr (Alistair) and callmeliterator (Zevran). Some of you might remember seeing this happen in the IRC. Granted, I did take the liberty to finish up the scene once it got too graphic for the IRC.

Zevran was sitting at one of the tables, his back against a wall, watching the merriment easily, a faint smile on his face as he watched the couples swirling and dancing. Enough drinks were flowing through the room that everyone was cheerful, no longer necessarily clinging to those they arrived with. Couples had switched partners for dances so often, it seemed like no one was with their own group any longer. His fingers drummed on the tabletop in time to the music, and he pushed his hair back from his eyes easily. It had long since escaped the braids he'd put it in before their arrival due to more than just one drunkard catching him by it to order another drink. It was after the third one that he'd given up navigating the room and taken to simply sitting.

There was a screech and then Alistair fell into the chair next to his, his face flushed with exertion of having led not one, not two, but five dances in a row. He was a popular enough partner, being one of the infamous Grey Wardens, one of the three who had stared down the great Archdemon and vanquished it. However, Alistair was simply flushed and grinning, picking at the cuff on one of his sleeves as he studied his comrade in arms. It was difficult to imagine Alistair as one of the last Wardens in Ferelden. The smile faded a little as Alistair really _looked_ at him, and Zevran averted his face, realizing belatedly that he was not suitably cheerful, given their present circumstances.

"Are... Are you alright?" Alistair leaned forward, concern evident on his face as he reached out to touch Zevran's shoulder. His voice was pitched just under the swelling music, letting only Zevran hear the question.

Zevran smiled a little, trying to look reassuring at the Warden. "I am well, Alistair," he said softly. His hand reached for his drink, the ale having been forgotten until Zevran needed it. He didn't drink it, just used it as an excuse to have something in his hand. "Headache."

"It _is_ a little loud in here." From Alistair's tone though, Zevran knew that he wasn't buying it. Zevran shrugged.

"Not from the noise. Too many people keep mistaking me for someone else. Tug my hair to catch my attention." He lifted the ale to his lips, sipping slowly. The last thing he wanted was to get drunk; he simply didn't think that would be a good idea in a ballroom full of surly drunk Fereldans. He snorted into the froth atop his glass when Alistair reached over and ran his fingers through Zevran's hair. Quickly lowering his glass, he shot the Warden a _look_. They had agreed, he thought; no public displays. Alistair wasn't keeping up his end of the bargain though, as he was carefully examining Zevran's hair, not seeming to care _who _was watching.

"S'not tangled. That's something, I suppose," he murmured, and Zevran drew back for just a moment. More screeching as Alistair dragged his chair closer, and then drew the Antivan back to lean just a little bit against his shoulder. It was innocuous enough, could easily be mistaken for simple drunken comraderie. Zevran sighed softly, letting himself relax a little just as Alistair leaned his head down enough to ask, "Who did it? I'll go and set them straight."

Something flared up then, and Zevran shoved off of Alistair, his eyes narrowing sharply. "Oh, I **love** it when you get all _possessive_, Alistair," he spat, unable to contain his annoyance. He'd had it with Fereldans assuming that he was incapable of defending himself. Where did they get this idea?

Alistair's eyebrows shot up, and he held up both of his hands, palm out, trying to disarm a situation that he didn't realize was so volitile. "I... I was only asking, Zev. If someone's giving you a hard time--"

"I can fight my own battles, in fact." Zevran frowned; Alistair shoved a hand through his own hair, and for just a moment, Zevran felt badly. He was angry, but not at Alistair. It wasn't fair to demonize him simply to give himself something to do; he needed a distraction.

Alistair looked down then, falling back into his chair. "Didn't mean it like that. ... Sorry."

Just a moment passed, and one corner of Zevran's mouth lifted in a smug smile. Alistair was _exactly_ the sort of distraction he could use. "Of course you are," he said smoothly, moving to stand. Alistair looked at him curiously, and Zevran clarified, "Are you ever _not_ sorry?"

"Nope." Alistair returned his grin, standing as well. When Zevran started walking, the Warden followed, Zev's ale in his hand. "In fact, I'm starting to think it should be my middle name, just to save time."

The Antivan chuckled lowly, shooting Alistair a look from under his lashes. "And then shall we call you Alistair Sorry Theirin, just to make certain you remember?" He took his ale, a little surprised that he had forgotten it, and he turned it up, finishing it off before he dropped it off at a nearby table. Alistair's hand slipped around Zevran's waist then, pulling him out of the way of a pair of drunk dancers. He was grinning.

"Of course. Only way it would work, right?"

"I like this plan," Zevran said softly, leaning his head back enough to look up the Warden. The hand on his hip tightened just slightly before it dropped reluctantly. Zevran smiled, but Alistair's expression was serious as he pulled the Antivan close to him, brushing back a small piece of Zevran's hair.

"Am I forgiven, then?" he asked, his voice low and quiet, just barely audible over the noise of the room. Zevran hesitated, his eyes focused on Alistair's lips before he forced himself to nod slowly.

"Alistair, it is... nice that you care. And I understand that it is important for you to feel like you are protecting those," a finger had to be placed over Alistair's mouth to keep him from interrupting, "those that you perceive as weaker than yourself." The finger trailed down slowly to lightly rub over Alistair's lower lip. "But I do resent the part of the fact that entails my being weaker than you." Alistair's tongue lightly touched the tip of his finger, and Zevran quickly withdrew his hand, looking at the Warden as sternly as he could manage. "I am _hardly_ weak."

Alistair's pout was quite fetching, and any other time, Zevran would have happily indulged himself, playing hard to get and coy, forcing the Warden to _work_ for the ending that both of them both knew was coming. Instead, he wanted to make Alistair understand his point, make him accept that Zevran was not a woman to be coddled and wrapped in cloth away from the dangers of the world. He was his own man, just as capable as Alistair was.

"I don't think you're weak..!" He was almost sputtering, clearly trying to keep from insulting Zevran further. It was cute, in a way. "I just..." Here Alistair looked down, and Zevran gently placed a finger under his chin to force him to look up.

"Just what?"

"... Don't like it when you sulk," Alistair finally finished, reaching up to lightly touch Zevran's shoulders. "You sulk whenever someone gives you a hard time."

Zevran couldn't stop the laugh from bursting forth, self-deprecating as it was. "I do sulk, don't I?" He grinned and was pleased when Alistair returned it. "I shall endeavor to change that, if you agree to stop implying that I am less than you. Are we agreed?" He held out his hand, a method of making a deal that he had learned here, in Ferelden. Alistair gripped his hand, and they shook, sealing it.

As their arms dropped, Zevran nearly jumped at the feel of _someone_ quite firmly taking the opportunity to grab a handful of his backside. He hesitated before turning around, standing nose to nose with a young woman. Her face was flushed and the smell of alcohol rolled off of her in waves. Her hand was still quite firmly on his rear, and she scrunched up her nose and made a little cooing noise as she squeezed. Her red hair was in some elaborate updo that was beginning to sag from all of the dancing and whirling that was going on.

"You're _adorable_," she announced, leaning in closer to him. Zevran could hear Alistair snickering behind him, and he rolled his eyes upward sharply, praying for enough strength to get through the evening. It wasn't that she wasn't attractive, and the Maker only knew how long it had been since he'd been with a woman, all soft and lush curves, but he was not in the mood to tolerate someone so drunk. Carefully, he reached back to dislodge her hand.

"Phoe! Phoe, love, what are you doing?" The young man who came over for her looked to be in just as much disarray, and he laughed as he wrapped his arms around her waist. His head settled on her shoulder as he studied Zevran, who offered a pained smile before twisting around to look at Alistair. His eyes locked with Alistair's hazel ones, then darted back toward the couple before returning to look at Alistair again. Alistair just grinned and shrugged a little.

Zevran leaned in close, hissing under his breath, "This? _This_ you may protect me from." The girl caught his arm; tugged on it.

"Oh, I want to take him home with us, dear!" She laughed as her partner squeezed her middle, and Alistair snorted just a little as he carefully drew Zevran out of her clutches and into his own arms. He ignored her widening eyes.

"_Now_ you want protecting?" he murmured quietly, and 'Phoe' was dragged off by her partner, who must have seen something else interesting to look at. Zevran blew out a deep breath and looked up at Alistair.

"I thought you _liked_ protecting me." One of Zevran's eyebrows lifted, and he tilted his head slightly. Alistair laughed lowly before he turned on his heel, pinning Zevran against the wall, closing the space between their bodies so it was all heat and proximity. Zevran swallowed, his eyes fluttering as Alistair leaned down just enough to rub the very tip of his nose against the Antivan's neck. The slightest hint of tongue, and Zevran made a soft noise, his arms lifting to wrap around the Warden.

That tongue trailed up until it found Zevran's earlobe, and it traced the outer shell of his ear. Then Alistair asked, "And I thought you didn't need protecting..?" Another lick and then his earlobe was being sucked. Alistair bit down softly when Zevran apparently took too long answering, causing the Antivan to gasp sharply.

"Sometimes... it's not about being protected." He swallowed, and another nibble encouraged him to keep going. "It's about feeling ... cherished." He managed a little grin, and Alistair chuckled, hot breath over Zev's ear.

"Cherished, is it? Not what you called it last night..." That voice, saying _such_ suggestive things... Zevran was certain he would never get used to it; he honestly didn't _want_ to get used to it. Alistair had no idea what it did to him, to hear him talking openly about _it_, this thing between them that neither of them were willing to give a name to. Now though, now it was time to turn the tables, to remind Alistair that Zevran could change the game whenever he chose.

He tilted his head back, and Alistair took the bait, his lips moving down to press against Zevran's throat, leaving slight wet kisses in their wake. "Sometimes it's just about being covered in sweat and pounded into the nearest suitable surface, no?" At Alistair's sudden flush, Zevran smiled and leaned up enough to catch the Warden's earlobe in his own mouth. A sharp suckle and a bite, and Alistair shivered suddenly, his hold on the Antivan slacking.

"Oh... That's not fair," Alistair whispered, and Zevran made a very soft noise, drawing back so that just the tip of his nose touched Alistair's earlobe.

"But right now... right now I want cherishing. You ... _can_ do that, can't you, Alistair?" He was rewarded with a smile from the Warden, who drew him close again, this time a little ways away from the wall. They were secluded enough, in a darker corner of the ballroom, the music still swelling behind them, almost everyone drunk for the night and those that weren't were still dancing.

"Cherish you? Maybe." One of Alistair's hands tangled in Zevran's hair, lightly scratching at the Antivan's scalp. Zevran's head tilted up, his lips parted just a little, his tongue touching his bottom lip for a heartbeat. Alistair's other arm wrapped around Zevran's waist, and he leaned down so that his lips were _just_ out of reach. "Worship you? More likely."

"That may work too, I think," Zevran murmured, his eyes locking with Alistair's as the Warden simply held him, still slightly out of reach. Alistair's fingers scratched his scalp again, and Zevran made a soft noise, wanting to feel Alistair touching him more, wanting to feel Alistair kissing him, licking him...

"Good. I'd hate to disappoint..."

"The only way you might disappoint now is by stopping." Zevran licked his lips again, and Alistair chuckled before he leaned down to kiss the Antivan, tilting his head to coax his lips apart, his tongue teasing Zevran's lower lip. His hand tightened in Zevran's hair, and his other one slid down to gently fondle--

It was the soft sigh that came from _not_ Zevran that clearly distracted Alistair, because then the Warden froze in his action, lifting his head enough to look over his shoulder. Phoe was back, this time with a few friends. All of the women had the same glazed over expression; their lips were all slightly parted, their breathing ragged. Alistair swallowed, and Zevran ducked his own head to hide a grin at the Warden's expense.

"I... I think we have an audience," Alistair whispered, looking back at Zevran quickly. The Antivan couldn't stop the laugh that escaped him. It seemed that even in Ferelden, attractive men kissing tended to draw an audience. Most of these women were flushed and still clutching ale, so Zevran didn't really see a problem with indulging them in their fantasies. At least a little.

"Is it a _problem_?" he asked softly, reaching up to touch the side of Alistair's face. The Warden swallowed and blushed a little before he shrugged.

"Just... unexpected. Not used to being watched."

Zevran slid his hand around to cup the back of Alistair's neck, and he pulled the Warden down. His lips literally brushed over Alistair's as he whispered, "They like it." Then they were kissing, and Alistair's hands both lifted to touch Zevran's hair. More desperate now, they were winding through the soft strands until they found the Antivan's scalp. A good scritch, and then Zevran was pressing against Alistair, moaning softly into the kiss until he finally drew back to whisper, "Please..."

Alistair's lips quirked on one side, a little smirk on them as he moved his attention down toward Zevran's neck. One of his hands moved down to catch Zevran's thigh, to pull it up, to coax the Antivan to wrap it over his hips. Alistair's lips then pressed softly against Zevran's throat, _tasting_ the pulse they found there. "Please," another kiss, "what," a nip-- slightest hint of teeth--, "Zev?" Then teeth bit down over the muscle leading to Zevran's shoulder, and the Antivan groaned, his leg tightening around Alistair's hip.

"Please," he gasped for breath as Alistair released him, "stop _teasing_ and **touch** me." He tilted his head back then, allowing Alistair free access to him. _Trusting_ him. Alistair's low chuckle raced over Zevran's collarbone, his tongue following the path it took.

"I thought you wanted to be worshipped. It's a long process..." That hand squeezed Zevran's thigh a little, and at another hint of teeth, Zevran realized that he couldn't stand this agonizingly slow pace. Not here, not now. He _wanted_ Alistair, and he was sick of waiting. He lowered his leg and smoothly reversed their positions, pressing Alistair against the wall. He must have looked dangerous, because Alistair didn't argue, just held up both of his hands in surrender.

"Alright, alright," the Warden said, an easy-going grin on his face. "What _do_ you want, then?"

"I want to push you against this wall and have my way with you." The words were almost growled out, and Zevran was pleased when Alistair's grin faded, replaced with something far more primal. They were on the same page again, both aching and straining against their damnable dress clothes, both only a hair's breadth from tearing each other's clothes _off_.

"Promises, promises." Zevran forced himself to focus on Alistair's lips, to watch how they moved to form the words. It was the only thing keeping him in check. He drew a deep breath, trying to push back the strange mood he'd been in all night, trying to get a grip on himself again. "You might change your mind again..."

"I might," he admitted quickly, knowing that it was a possibility. Slowly, he licked along Alistair's collarbone before he eased down to his knees. Alistair's breathing hitched and his eyes fell closed, all before Zevran had even touched him.

"Always," another gasp as Zevran reached up and gently pressed his palm against the bulge in the front of the Warden's pants, "changing the rules..." Matching gasps came from their audience, and a stifled moan barely reached Zevran's ears as he started unlacing the front of the trousers. "Incorrigable, you are."

"It is my pleasure, my dear Warden." Zevran's eyes flashed with amusement before he drew out Alistair's length, wrapping his hand around it. Alistair leaned back against the wall, his eyes opening slowly to look off at nothing. "And perhaps yours, as well," the Antivan added, noticing how easily Alistair responded to him, how _little_ it took to get the Warden twitching, his hips jerking just slightly.

The faintest of grins crossed Alistair's face as he whispered, "Smartarse," and then no words came at all. Zevran squeezed him just a little more, rubbing the hand over his length, pushing down and pulling back up, careful to watch Alistair's reaction with every movement. He licked his bottom lip again.

"Yes, but you _like_ my arse," the Antivan shot back, his final quip before he took Alistair into his mouth. He sank all the way down, his hands moving to hold Alistair's hips against the wall, not letting him move for this. Alistair's eyes closed for just a heartbeat before they opened again to focus on Zevran, one of the Warden's hands lifting to hold Zevran's hair back out of the way. As Zevran started to move, Alistair's legs tremble just slightly.

"M-maker... Zev..."

No words, but Zevran made a soft noise and began moving faster, his own eyes closing. His hand was still wrapped around the base of Alistair's length, and slowly, the more comfortable he got in the rhythm, the more he let go with it, until it was only his mouth over the Warden. He pulled out all of the stops, wanting to _feel_ Alistair's release, wanting to taste it. Alistair's hand tightened in Zev's hair, and Zevran nearly moaned at the feel of the sharp tug.

"I-I... p-please..." Alistair was leaning against the wall, his head tilted back, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and Zevran was drinking it in. Savoring it. He could hear the collective whimpers from behind them, and he was suddenly ridiculously pleased with himself. He had to admit, this was the first time he'd gotten off more than three people at once. "P-please, Zev..." One of Zevran's hands drifted down to stroke soothingly at Alistair's thigh, and he continued moving, letting his tongue press up against Alistair.

Alistair bit down on a sharp moan, instead letting out this strangled, whining noise as his hips bucked under Zevran's hands, forcing the Antivan to take _all _of him at once, his release hitting the back of Zev's throat in the same motion. He trembled violently as Zevran slowly pulled back, a satisfied grin on his face.

"Was that so hard, then?" he asked lowly, helping Alistair tuck himself away, his fingers lingering far longer than was strictly necessary. Alistair chuckled weakly, still leaning against the wall, held up by sheer force of will to _not_ end up on the floor. Zevran trailed his fingers up Alistair's chest, leaning close as he added, "But for you... Why don't we retire to a more private setting for the next course?"

Alistair nodded slowly, swallowing as he reigned himself in, as he slowly regained control of his body. He pulled Zevran closer to him, his arm tight around the Antivan's waist. "You're going to be the death of me, I swear."

Zevran offered him a sly grin, looking up at him from under his lashes. "That _would _be the general idea. I am an _assassin_, after all. Shall we?" Another nod, and Alistair followed Zevran out of the room, ignoring the gaggle of shell-shocked women they left behind. They managed to find Alistair's room first, and for once, it didn't matter. Alistair had learned quickly enough to keep everything on hand that they might need, the same way Zevran did.

Shirts were stripped off, pants were unlaced and boots shed within moments of making it inside the relatively safe haven of the room. Once it was locked, Alistair had his fingers hooked in the sides of Zevran's pants, and he dropped to his knees in front of the Antivan, drawing the trousers down in the same motion. He immediately reached up to wrap his hand around Zevran's length, and Zevran gasped, the sight of Alistair on his knees, so focused on his task--

_Knowing_ that he wouldn't last long-- not like that, Zevran moaned, his hips pushing into the hand there once before he reached down and caught Alistair's shoulders. He coaxed the Warden back up to his feet, and Zevran quickly removed Alistair's pants as well. A little grin lit his face the moment they were both completely naked.

"Already, Alistair? I am certain I just took care of this..." His fingers lightly brushed over _that_ part, letting Alistair know exactly what Zevran was referring to. Alistair blushed just a little, and he turned the Antivan around, so that Zevran's back was flush against Alistair's chest. His lips touched the crook of Zevran's shoulder, and when Zevran moaned, Alistair bit down. Zevran drew a deep breath, and then he moved toward the bed, crawling onto it easily enough, staying on his hands and knees as he reached for the nightstand.

Alistair followed him-- when did he not?-- and he gently stroked Zevran's back as the Antivan retrieved the oil and handed it to the Warden. Wordlessly, Alistair took it, and Zevran shivered as he felt Alistair moving. By the time the vial hit the bed, there was _something_ pressing against Zevran, and the Antivan was gasping, trying to breathe. No prep work; Zevran didn't think he'd last through that.

As Alistair pushed into him, Zevran moaned, his arms threatening to give out. Alistair's hand reached for Zev's shoulder though and held him up, gave him something to balance himself with. He didn't reach to touch himself, not with as _close_ as he was. He could already see sparks, and with each thrust of Alistair's hips, every soft groan from the Warden, Zevran felt like he was going to simply shatter. It wasn't slow; it wasn't tender. Not with as painfully hard as Zevran was, not with as much as Alistair had teased him. Neither of them could have stood a slow pace.

Those fingertips dug into his shoulder, and Alistair's left hand squeezed Zevran's hip, holding him exactly where the Warden wanted him. Zevran's breathing hitched, and when Alistair's hand managed to let go of his hip and reach around--

A sharp cry tore itself from Zevran's throat, and his arms gave out the moment that his world shattered, leaving him feeling nothing except a soft glow and the sensations of Alistair still buried inside of him. He could _feel_ Alistair's movements speed up, feel the desperation lacing them. His own body was spent, but Zevran found himself still moaning and arching and _begging_ Alistair, pleading with him to finish, to release.

Alistair's hips snapped forward once more, and the Warden's hands dug into the hold on Zevran's hip and shoulder once more, his fingers white-knuckled, his release explosive, almost violent. Zevran gasped, the feeling almost too much on his already raw nerves. By the time Alistair had the presence of mind to move, Zevran was collapsed in the bed, a boneless heap of sweat-slick limbs. Alistair crawled up on the bed to lay beside him, and instinctively, Zevran shifted positions so that his face was pressed against Alistair's chest. An arm curled around him, and Zevran's eyes closed.

Being worshipped was something he could get used to.


End file.
